


All Strings Detached

by DrivelLegion



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-01-27 04:43:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21386299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrivelLegion/pseuds/DrivelLegion
Summary: Things are not going well at the Hazbin Hotel. The clients are uncooperative, Alastor is constantly sabotaging any hope of progress, and the venture has yet to redeem a single soul. However, hope soon arrives in the form of a wandering demon guitarist named Blanche. He is more reserved and polite than anyone so far, and he says that he wants redemption, the first guest so far to be looking for something other than free food and lodging. It all sounds too good to be true, but there's a catch; he doesn't know why he's in Hell. The others, especially Vaggie, don't trust Blanche, but Charlie promises to help him anyway. What follows will test not only the hotel and its mission, but also the relationship between Charlie and Vaggie as they struggle to make sense of the situation. How can anyone not know the evil they've done? Can someone be redeemed when they don't believe they've done anything wrong? And should Charlie be as trusting of her clients when they constantly betray her?
Relationships: Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Comments: 37
Kudos: 79





	1. Check-in

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a fan-made creation, and is not affiliated with Vivziepop or the creators of Hazbin Hotel. Please support the official product.

"SKREAK SKREAK SKREAK!"

Charlie's fist slammed down on the bat-shaped alarm clock, squashing it against the wood of the bedside table. She took a brief moment to stretch her arms before leaping out from under the covers.

"It's morning time!"

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," muttered Vaggie, rolling over to face away from her. "Do you really need to set the alarm for 5 AM?"

"Uh, yeah," Charlie replied as she flung open the blinds, letting the hellish sunlight blind Vaggie. "We start taking admissions at 7, and there's a minimum two hours of prep time before we open. We've gotta get clean, get dressed, make sure Nifty didn't go overboard on the lobby, get the registry ready to go, and you know that it takes at least an hour to get Husk out of his morning stupor."

"Another day in 'paradise,'" said Vaggie. "But you also don't need to open the doors right at 7. Nobody ever shows up until the afternoon, and that's assuming anyone comes in at all."

Charlie held up a chastising finger. "Lead by example. How are we supposed to help anyone be better people if we don't hold ourselves to the same standard?"

Vaggie shrugged. "By getting enough sleep to put on a happy face?"

"I get plenty of sleep." Charlie's hand shot out to the vanity, grabbing one of the twenty thermoses filled with coffee and guzzling its contents. "I've always got a happy face."

Vaggie sat up and examined her. Charlie's hair was a tangled mop, her eyes bulging and bloodshot from caffeine abuse, and her teeth had begun to turn a nasty yellow color. Somewhere in the distance Vaggie thought she heard someone shriek with horror. "Riiiiiiiight..."

The door burst open as Alastor barged into the room, his voice amplified about a thousand times louder than was reasonable. "GOOOOOOOOOOOD MORNING, LADIES!"

Charlie squeaked, rushing to cover herself. "What the fuck, Alastor?! Don't you know how to knock?"

The radio demon's eyes narrowed, his permanent grin taking on a more devious appearance. "AS A MATTER OF FACT, NO." He marched into the room, looking over everything as he walked uninvited through her space. "SO, HOW ARE MY LITTLE ANGELS DOING THIS MORNING? UP AND AT 'EM BRIGHT AND EARLY, AS USUAL. READY TO SAVE MORE WAYWARD SOULS FROM THEMSELVES?"

Charlie threw on her bathrobe, trying her best not to scowl at him. "As a matter of fact, yes."

Vaggie was less subtle with how she felt about his intrusion. She glared daggers at Alastor, moving to stand next to Charlie. "Who said you could just walk in here?"

Alastor raised an eyebrow, as if just noticing her. He leaned in far too close for comfort, playfully flicking the tip of her nose as he sneered at her. "I DID. DON'T GET YOUR PANTIES IN A TWIST, SWEETHEART. IF I WANTED TO CREEP ON YOU THEN I WOULDN'T HAVE LET YOU SEE ME." He pulled away from her, turning to Charlie. "SO, HOW ABOUT IT, SUGARPOP? I SURE DO HOPE WE GET A REAL SCORE TODAY. IT WOULD BE A DAMN SHAME IF THE NEXT DEMON TO WALK IN HERE SEEKING REDEMPTION TURNED OUT TO BE JUST ANOTHER SCUMBAG LOOKING FOR A FREE ROOM AND A NIGHT WITH YOUR RESIDENT PORNSTAR."

Charlie took a moment to smooth her hair, taking a deep breath to avoid throwing her thermos at him. She squared her shoulders and stood tall, adopting an authoritative tone that she hoped sounded more convincing than it felt. "We can always hope. So is that why you barged into my room, to be all passive aggressive about my clients?"

"PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE? ME?" Alastor laughed, an earsplitting wail that threatened to rip reality itself in half. "OH, YE OF LITTLE FAITH. SO MUCH FOR SEEING THE BEST IN PEOPLE. I TOLD YOU FROM THE START THAT I CAME HERE TO HELP."

"To help me fail," Charlie corrected. "You made your intentions perfectly clear."

"AND YOU MADE YOURS PRETTY CLEAR AS WELL," Alastor pointed out, spinning his microphone with a flourish. "YOU'RE LOOKING TO REHABILITATE ME. WHO KNOWS? MAYBE IT'S WORKING. I JUST THOUGHT YOU'D LIKE TO KNOW THAT THERE'S A CUSTOMER STANDING OUTSIDE THE DOOR."

"A customer?" Vaggie echoed. "At 5 in the morning?"

Alastor's grin widened further. "5 IN THE MORNING? IS YOUR ALARM CLOCK BEHIND BY... OH, I DON'T KNOW... TWO TIME ZONES? IT'S 7 A.M., AND HE'S BEEN WAITING VERY PATIENTLY."

Charlie's face went pale, an impressive feat for someone with her complexion. "Oh, you've got to be shitting me! Did you at least unlock the front door and let him in?"

Alastor rubbed his fingernails against his coat, then examined them absently. "I DON'T HAVE THE AUTHORITY TO OPEN YOUR PLACE OF BUSINESS. THAT'S SOMETHING FOR THE OWNER TO DO. NOW, IF YOU HAD SIGNED MY LITTLE CONTRACT..."

Charlie threw up her hands. "Oh, forget it! Just get out so I can get dressed! Go downstairs and tell him that the owner will be down to check him in soon."

"I'll handle that," said Vaggie, rubbing her shoulder. "I usually go with the 'just woke up' look, anyway." She took a step toward Alastor, standing on tiptoe to shove her finger in his face. "I've just about had it with you, asshole! Screwing with our clocks is low, even for you."

Alastor feigned innocence. It was an odd look, and it did not suit him at all. The aloof glance sent his visage even further into the uncanny valley. "I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, MY DEAR. ANYWAY, MY WORK HERE IS DONE. ALLOW ME TO ESCORT YOU TO THE LOBBY, MADAM."

Vaggie shoved him aside, storming out of the room. "Like I need your help to find my way around my own hotel. Go fuck yourself."

Alastor followed after her, looking absurdly pleased with himself. "OF COURSE YOU KNOW THE WAY, BUT A TRUE GENTLEMAN WALKS IN FRONT SO HE CAN HOLD THE DOORS OPEN."

-

The demon was waiting patiently outside the door, checking the time on the clocktower. He was far from imposing, an average build without any grand flairs or crazy coloration. His body was covered in thick white fur, damp and matted from an early morning rain. An elongated pair of razor sharp canines protruded from the corners of his mouth, reaching down to the base of his chin, giving him a prehistoric cat-like appearance. He was dressed in simple street clothes, a brown leather jacket and a pair of jeans. In his hand he held an ordinary guitar case that was shackled to his wrist. He clearly had not anticipated the weather. He was drenched, his fur clinging to his body like an obsessive ex-girlfriend, and he looked absolutely miserable. His pointed ears perked up as he heard the lock turn and the door open, and he whirled around to face the door. Vaggie found herself confronted with a set of vibrant green cat's eyes. His gaze burned, as if it held an unbridled fury in check. His slouching posture instantly straightened itself and he gave a toothy smile as she opened the door.

"Morning," said Vaggie. "Sorry about the wait. We've had a... schedule malfunction here. We're open for business."

The demon's voice was drastically different from what Vaggie had expected. He looked like someone who would slowly purr out his words, sickly sweet and laced with inevitable betrayal. Instead he was soft-spoken, his tone light and unremarkable. He stepped inside, shaking water from his arms. "Oh, good. I was starting to think you guys had already been kicked out of town or something."

Vaggie tried to look happy, but Alastor had slipped out of sight and it was making her nervous. Whatever he was up to, it couldn't be good. "Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel," she managed with a weak smile. "I'm Vaggie. The owner will be down to check you in shortly."

The demon held out a hand. "Nice to meet you, Vaggie. I'm Blanche."

She accepted the handshake, and found that his grip was noticeably weaker than her own. She frowned to herself. Something about this one seemed off. He hadn't cursed, hadn't really complained, hadn't made a sleazy pass at her, and he was being far too polite. Her sixth sense tingled at the back of her mind, and she raised a suspicious eyebrow. "So what brings you in today?"

Blanche was looking around the lobby. His gaze fell upon the bar, and upon the unconscious form of Husk slumped across it, dead drunk. "Nice place." There was the slightest hint of biting sarcasm, but he swallowed it. "I saw your segment on TV. Gotta tell ya, I've never seen anyone try and do anything decent in Hell before. Who knew the princess actually had a heart?" He shrugged. "Place sounds a little too good to be true, to be perfectly honest. I've been swindled enough times to be careful about where I play my cards, but... I got nothing more to lose. So how does this work, exactly? Do I gotta sign away my soul or something?"

"I'M GLAD YOU ASKED!" Alastor slid into view just behind him, leering down at him and holding out a slip of paper. "JUST SIGN ON THE DOTTED LINE, MY GOOD MAN."

"YOW!" Blanche leaped several meters into the air, his limbs reflexively wrapping around the chandelier. He dangled from the ceiling, staring wide-eyed at Alastor. "I knew there was a catch! You guys didn't say anything about the Radio Demon being here!"

Vaggie was fuming, leaning both arms on the front desk as she glared at Alastor. "He's an... investor. And he's not responsible for our contracts. Don't sign anything he gives you."

Alastor's shit-eating grin didn't so much as flicker. He winked at Vaggie. "CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DON'T TRUST ME."

"Hiiiiiiii!" Charlie rushed to the top of the stairs, sliding dramatically down the banister. She had managed to make herself at least somewhat presentable. Her hair wasn't perfectly straight, her jacket was wrinkled, and her bowtie was slightly askew, but the energy she radiated as she marched smartly forward made up for any shortcomings. "Sorry about the wai..." She froze in place, looking back and forth in confusion. "Where'd he go? Don't tell me you ran him off already."

Blanche fell to the floor with a WHUMP as he lost his grip on the chandelier. He landed near the counter, slamming his head against the edge. As he pulled himself upward, it dangled unnaturally from his neck. He placed his hands on either side of his face and held his skull in its proper place, setting it back with a nasty cracking noise. "Ow..."

"HE'S FITTING RIGHT IN ALREADY," said Alastor. "I HAVEN'T SEEN A DISMOUNT THAT STYLISH SINCE SAINT JOHN OF NEPOMUK GOT THROWN OFF A BRIDGE." He spread his arms, enjoying the laughtrack and applause that he summoned to fill the air.

Charlie ignored him. "Are you alright?"

"I've had worse." Blanche looked her up and down. "Well, I'll be damned all over again. It really is the Princess of Hell."

She waved the title away. "Oh, I'm just 'Charlie' here, thanks. I'm sorry that we were late opening up. Come on over and we'll get you checked in." She led Blanche to the main desk. There was a book on the counter with a padlock across the cover. Charlie produced a key from her jacket and unlocked it. The book opened by itself, flipping to an empty page before summoning a quill that hung suspended in the air. "I'll need you to put down your name, age, adverse reactions to direct sunlight, any potentially hazardous auras or involuntary abilities, known food allergies, and the reason for your condemnation."

"AND YOUR SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER," Alastor added, thumbing through an imaginary notepad.

Blanche narrowed his eyes at Charlie. "How stupid does he think I am?"

Charlie winced. Alastor was making things needlessly difficult, as usual. "Uh... I don't think that's a question you really want answered."

Blanche shrugged, taking the pen and filling in the blanks on the page. "You sounded pretty confident during your little... aha... TV pitch. What's your success rate?"

Charlie flinched harder. It was a question she had always dreaded being asked. The answer was not bound to inspire much confidence in her work. "W-well..." She looked over at Vaggie for support, but she was busy trying to shake Husk back into consciousness. "We haven't been open for very long, and rehabilitation can be a lengthy process, so..."

"Get off me, ya rotten whore!" Husk was awake, and Charlie slapped an exasperated hand over her face.

Much to her relief Blanche simply nodded. "I guess that's fair. I was just curious. I've been trying to figure out a way to redeem myself for a while now." He leaned across the counter and mumbled out of the corner of his mouth. "And I don't mind telling you that I'm getting desperate."

"We'll go over the details after we get you settled in," Charlie replied. "Do you have any luggage?"

"Nope," said Blanche. "Just me and the clothes on my back. I, uh... like to travel light."

Charlie noticed something shady in his tone, but before she could give it any thought Angel Dust walked into the lobby. "Well well weeeeeelllll," he purred, sliding up beside Blanche with a slinking, ferret-like motion. "A fresh face, what a delight!"

Charlie felt her eye twitch. Was there anyone at the hotel who didn't want to try to ruin their client's first day? "Good morning, Angel," she said through gritted teeth. "You're up early."

Angel Dust didn't look at her. He was examining Blanche from head to toe. "Oh, I never went to sleep, smookums. I've gotta get really tuckered out for that. Last night was particularly... unsatisfying. But now?" He licked his lips, then bit the lower one provocatively. "I'm thinking my luck is starting to change. What d'ya say, baby? Looking for a roommate?"

Blanche looked panicked. He was blushing profusely, obviously confused on many levels by Angel's unconventional anatomy. He tried to step away, but the pornstar simply slid closer, running a sensual finger down his arm. "I-I'm sorry," said Balnche. "Who are you, again?"

Angel's hungry smile dwindled. "Seriously? You don't recognize me?" Blanche shook his head, and Angel fluffed his own hair. "The name's Angel Dust, sweetheart. Ring any bells?"

Blanche shrugged. "I'm not really into grunge music."

Angel's jaw dropped, but he quickly regained his composure as his finger found the shackles around Blanche's wrist. "I love a man with handcuffs. What d'ya say we slip on out of here so I can use them to introduce myself properly?"

Blanche's face reddened further. "Uh... I-I don't have the key."

"Oh, I see. A man with secrets. So what's in the case, big boy?"

Blanche raised an eyebrow, his patience clearly wearing thin. The question had triggered something within him, and Charlie could see that Angel had touched a nerve. "A dishwasher. The fuck does it look like? It's a guitar case."

Angel held up his hands. "Hey, hey, no need to get snippy. I was just curious."

Blanche seized the opportunity and gave Angel a gentle shove. He shot Charlie a pleading look. "Can I get my room key now, please?"

-

"Alright, here we are!" Charlie turned the door handle and threw open the door. "What do you think?"

Blanche stepped into the room, his expression a mixture of surprise and excitement. The room was fairly spacious and well furnished, virtually every surface covered with plush red velvet. Some of it was patched and other spots showed signs of intense wear, but it felt as warm and inviting as anything in Hell could feel. Blanche turned toward Charlie and nodded. "It beats the overpass I was living under, that's for sure. It's great. I was worried this place would be a dump. Uh… no offense…"

"None taken," Charlie replied. "I'm glad you like it. Now, there's a small fridge against the far wall, the bathroom is small but it's got both hot and cold water, housekeeping comes in at around 10 every morning to tidy up, and we do have a breakfast on weekday mornings in the atrium just off the lobby. The beds are newer than the rest of the furniture so they should be fairly comfortable, and… uh… if you find that you need a bigger one for whatever reason…"

Blanche sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing a couple times to test the mattress. "The size is fine," he said. "I gave up activities that require large mattresses ages ago." He set his guitar case in his lap, fiddling absently with the clasps. "What's your policy on music in the rooms?"

Charlie pointed to the dresser. "The full set of rules is in a pamphlet on the dresser. It's allowed, but if the other guests start to complain about the noise then we will have to ask you to keep it down. Other than that, the basic guidelines are simple: be polite, no fighting, keep alcohol consumption to a reasonable amount, no smoking in the building, no harassing the other guests or the hotel staff, and no slipping back into old habits. The goal is to help you improve, not stay the same. I will need to see what's inside that case, though, for safety reasons."

Blanche pulled it closer to himself. "Do you really? It's pretty obvious what's in it."

Charlie took a cautious step closer. "Yes, but this is Hell. I can't afford to take any chances. Is there a problem with the case?"

Blanche sighed. "It's a tough business when you can't trust the clientele. There's no problem, it's just… a bit personal." He flipped the case open and removed a beautifully crafted acoustic guitar. It bore a flawless wood stain that gave it an alluring shine, and the sound it made as his fingers gently brushed over the strings was in perfect tune. Something was engraved in the body of it, what appeared to be a pair of names, but Blanche's hand covered it before Charlie could read it. "When I woke up in Hell, this was attached to my wrist," Blanche explained, his cheeks beginning to burn. "It's more like a part of my body than a musical instrument. Showing it to people is kinda… embarrassing."

Charlie nodded as she opened up the registry. "I've been looking over the info you gave us. I've got a couple questions."

"Is there a problem?"

"Well… did you understand what we meant when we asked for your reason for condemnation?"

Blanche blinked. "I assumed that you meant the reason I went downstairs instead of upstairs."

Charlie smiled. "Ok, so you did understand. See, you wrote down 'unknown' as your answer. The thing is, Blanche, we use this info to form your case file. It's very important that it's taken seriously. If you aren't honest with us then we can't help you get better."

"Ah." Blanche slipped the guitar back in its case and snapped the clasps shut. "I thought that might be an issue. I wasn't trying to be difficult or sarcastic."

"I didn't mean to imply-"

"I know." He held up a hand, his gaze falling to the floor. "I was being serious, Charlie. I have no idea why I'm here. When my verdict was handed out, the big man didn't say a word. He just slapped a guitar on my wrist and sent me down here." He shrugged. "I've been trying to figure out what I did wrong for a couple years now. How did I fuck up so bad that I wound up deserving to live in this shithole? Uh… no offense."

Charlie had closed the book, her hands clasped in front of her as she listened. "None taken. Go on."

Blanche ran his free hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. "Well, so far I haven't found an answer. I can't stay here much longer. The last purge almost got me, and I don't think I'll survive the next one. I mean, let's be real, I don't exactly look like much of a survivor." He held up his thin, lanky arms to illustrate his point before dropping them to his sides again with a sigh. "I know this whole hotel thing is a longshot. You haven't been around very long and I know I'm not like a regular client, but it's not like Hell has many other options available for someone in my situation." He met her gaze, his green eyes piercing her as he gave her a desperate, pleading look. "Any rules you've got, I'll follow. Anything you need me to do, I'll do. Do you think there's any chance at all that you can help me?"


	2. In Concert

"Ugh!" Charlie groaned as she planted her face into the countertop. "Go fucking figure!"

"What?" asked Vaggie, running a comforting hand down her back. "What's wrong now?"

"I finally get someone in the hotel who's serious about changing, someone who isn't just chasing tail or free room service, and I've got no idea how to help him!"

Vaggie raised an eyebrow. "That bad, huh? I knew he must have done something nasty. He was way too friendly."

Charlie lifted up her head just enough to rest her chin on the desk. "What?"

"I mean, it must be bad if even you think he's irredeemable."

"I didn't say that," said Charlie, frowning at her. "He doesn't know why he was condemned."

Vaggie's other eyebrow joined the first. "What? Bullshit. Everyone knows what they did to get here. They don't send you to Hell for jaywalking. If it's big enough for you to wind up here, then it's something you remember doing."

“Yeah, maybe…”

Vaggie sat on the desk. “Look, everyone who’s come in here so far has been a scam. You’re a generous person, Charlie, and I love you for that, but all anyone else sees is a chance to take advantage of you. This new guy gives me the creeps. He’s acting way too nice to be in Hell, yet here he is. That means he’s faking it. Say what you want about the other losers we’ve got here, but at least they’re open about how fucked up they are. Blanche is trying to hide it.”

“But why would he do that?” asked Charlie. “We’re all demons here. There’s no reason to pretend.”

“Sure there is. He wants to get out, and so he’s being a total kiss-ass. Clearly he wants you to trust him, but he won’t tell you anything about himself. Doesn’t that trigger any red flags for you?”

“Vag,” Charlie shut her eyes and rubbed at her forehead. “We haven’t even started in yet, and you’re already making all these assumptions about him. Why are you so convinced that he’s out to get us?”

“We live in Hell!” Vaggie replied. “Everyone is out to get everyone! That’s just how this place works. He’s probably got nuclear missile codes in that secret briefcase of his or something.”

“It’s just a guitar, Vaggie. He showed it to me.”

“Whatever. My point is that I don’t trust him, and you shouldn’t either. It’s just…” Her gaze fell away and she suddenly found the wall worth studying. “I’m getting tired of watching people use you and walk all over you. I know that it hurts you, and… I don’t want to see you like that.”

“Vag…” Charlie smiled. She gave her a quick hug and kissed her cheek. “I appreciate that, I really do. But I can take care of myself. I didn’t expect any of this to be easy. We both knew that it was going to be frustrating, even heartbreaking, but I believe in what I’m doing here. How are we supposed to help anybody get better if we keep believing that they’re all rotten to the core? Sometimes we’ve got to let our guard down, and that means taking a few hits. It’s ok. I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

Vaggie sighed. “I know. Just… be careful, at least, ok? There’s seriously something off about him. I can feel it.”

Charlie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Vag, you say that about everyone who comes in.”

“And I’ve been right every time so far. I’m being serious, Charlie.”

“Well, so am I. I’ve got to try and find a way to help Blanche. How would it look if someone came in asking for help and we just gave up on him? I can’t do that. I won’t do that.” She turned away, rapping the side of her head as she tried to think. “But I still don’t know where to start. I had a beautiful system all prepared. I’ve got folders, flow charts, diagrams, illustrations, gold star stickers!” She threw her hands upward. “I even got laminated question forms with dry/erase markers, and all of it is useless! We’re stuck at square one! At this rate I won’t even get to use the stickers! Do you remember how much thought I put into those?”

“I remember,” said Vaggie. “Three weeks of debate over which size, shape, and color they should be. It’d be a shame not to use them.”

“Right?!” Charlie slumped onto the desk again, her voice muffled by the countertop. “Why does my luck always end up being so fucking rotten?”

“GIVING UP ALREADY, ARE WE?” asked Alastor as he strutted his way into the lobby. He leaned against the counter, his fingers finding the corners of Vaggie’s mouth and swiftly turning them upward. “NOBODY LIKES A GRUMPY RECEPTIONIST, LOVE. TURN THAT FROWN UPSIDE DOWN.” He looked down at Charlie. “SOUNDS LIKE YOU’VE GOT A REAL CHALLENGE ON YOUR HANDS THIS TIME, PRINCESS. SUCH A SHAME THAT HE DOESN’T FIT YOUR CAREFULLY PREPARED TEN-STEP PROGRAM. NOW YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE A PLAN!”

“I’ve got a plan,” Charlie shot back. Alastor stared at her, quietly waiting for her to continue. Her blood froze as she realized that he was expecting her to explain what that plan was. “I… uh…” Her mind raced. She had spoken without thinking, and now he was calling her bluff. She had to come up with something quickly. “He… obviously was given a very specific punishment. Most sentences in Hell are symbolic of something they did in life, like when Sisyphus had to push a boulder up a mountain for eternity, or when Stephen Hawking had to sit through creationist lectures on a loop. So whatever he did to get sent here has something to do with that guitar of his. That means that his redemption is also tied to it. That’s where I’m going to start.”

Alastor slapped her heavily on the back. “THAT’S THE SPIRIT! DON’T EVER LET A CHALLENGE GET YOU DOWN! TACKLE IT HEAD ON!”

“Uh… thanks, Alastor. That’s unusually nice of-”

“DON’T MENTION IT! IF YOU WERE TO BACK DOWN OR GIVE UP, THEN IT WOULDN’T BE ANYWHERE NEAR AS FUN! TACKLING THE IMPOSSIBLE IS A RECIPE FOR DISASTER, AND I’M GOING TO BE WATCHING WITH A GREAT DEAL OF INTEREST.”

“...Oh.”

-

Nifty hummed softly to herself as she worked her way through the heating vents, sweeping at cobwebs and dust bunnies as she moved from one room to the next. Everything in the old hotel was connected by vents, and she was the perfect size for squeezing through the small spaces. The vents needed constant attention. Nearly everything in Hell was flammable at the right temperature, and leaving clutter in the vents was a serious fire hazard. On the occasions that Hell froze over (a rare, but not unheard of occurrence), the central heating would be turned on and anything still in the vents would almost certainly ignite. Fortunately for Nifty the Vents also made for efficient travel from one part of the hotel to the next. "Two birds with one stone," she hummed to herself as she swept a nasty-smelling clear rubbery tube into her dustpan.

The sound of music made her pause. It swirled through the tunnels, warping into an oddly beautiful cacophony of dissonant tones. Nifty crept forward, following the path it created. As she drew nearer to the source the melody became clearer, evening out into a guitar melody. It was a melancholy tune that plodded along like someone walking slowly through a field of wildflowers in the rain. Nifty drew closer to the grating, peeking into the room where the music was coming from.

Blanche was sitting on the edge of his bed, strumming away on his instrument. His back was turned, but there was still a noticeable intensity to his playing, a stark contrast to the easy flow of the melody. It was as if his life depended on it. His shoulders were shaking, and Nifty suspected that he might be crying. She leaned against the grate to get a better view, but gasped with shock as she realized far too late that she had forgotten to secure it the last time she had passed through. For a split second she hung suspended in space, then plummeted to the floor. The music cut off abruptly as Blanche whirled around.

"Who's there?"

Nifty stood up, brushing dust from her skirt and giving him an embarrassed smile. "Uh… h-housekeeping!" she chirped, her words pouring out like a waterfall. "I'm sorry, really really sorry! I didn't mean to barge in! It's just that the vents were dirty and the grate was loose and I wasn't paying attention and I heard music and it was so pretty and-"

"It's alright," said Blanche, wiping briefly at his eyes. "Do whatever you need to."

"Are you sure? Because I could come back later if you're really busy. I don't want to interrupt your practising, and if you need privacy then-"

"It's fine," Blanche interrupted. He gave her a smile. "What's your name, miss?"

"Miss?" Nifty felt her cheeks burn. She couldn't remember the last time someone had called her that. It felt refined, almost ladylike. "I-I'm Nifty. I keep the rooms clean."

"You do a good job," said Blanche. His smile disappeared as he suddenly gasped, clutching at his chest. His face contorted with pain and he grunted loudly.

"Are you alright?" Nifty asked.

"Fine…" Blanche hissed through clenched teeth. "Just gotta… keep… playing." He strummed a chord on his guitar and heaved a sigh of relief. "Can't stop a performance for very long," he explained as he picked up the tune again. "I have to meet a quota, or things stop working. But at least I've got an audience now."

Nifty blinked her single eye. "Audience?"

"That's right," Blanche replied. "What do you say, want to hear a song?"

"Oh…" Nifty hesitated, shuffling her feet. "I… don't know. I've still got to sweep the main hallway and dust the banisters and fluff the sofa cushions and mop the kitchen and…" She paused as she noticed Blanche staring at her. His green eyes absorbed her attention, and she found it difficult to think. Her feet moved on their own accord, and she felt as if she had begun to float through the air. She had lost control of herself. At first she wanted to scream, to bolt for the vents, but something in his gaze made her feel peaceful, safe, and protected. There was no malice in what was happening, and she found that the loss of control quickly passed. It hadn't been a possession so much as a gentle psychic nudge. Her cheeks flushed, and she broke eye contact. "Oh… I suppose I could stay for a few minutes."

Blanche smiled, nodding his head toward the dresser. "Have a seat. I can feel one coming on pretty soon."

She wanted to ask what he meant by that, but thought better of it. She hopped up onto the furniture and sat daintily on the edge, letting her legs dangle in the air. "Did you just hypnotize me?" she asked.

"Only a little," Blanche replied with a wink. "Just enough to take your mind off of chores for a minute. Even supernatural housekeepers need a break every now and then."

Nifty shivered. There was something unnerving about losing control of her body, yet Blanche hadn't forced her to stay. He had let her go. He seemed kind, but something didn't sit right. There was an aura of something darker hiding just below the surface, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Blanche began to sing along with his own strumming, and Nifty felt her concerns swiftly melt away in the silky smoothness of his voice. As he sang his eyes began to moisten, and his expression changed to one of sorrow, as if remembering something he didn't want to see. His voice never wavered, but his shoulders shook fiercely.

"Starry, starry night,  
Paint your palette blue and grey.  
Look out on a summer's day  
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul!  
Shadows on the hills,  
Sketch the trees and the daffodils.  
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,  
In colors on the snowy linen land.

"Now I understand,  
What you tried to say to me,  
And how you suffered for your sanity,  
And how you tried to set them free!  
They would not listen, they did not know how.  
Perhaps they'll listen now.

"Starry, starry night,  
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,  
Swirling clouds in violet haze,  
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.  
Colors changing hue,  
Morning fields of amber grain,  
Weathered faces lined in pain,  
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

"For they could not love you,  
But still your love was true,  
And when no hope was left in sight,  
On that starry, starry night,  
You took your life, as lovers often do!  
But I could have told you, Vincent,  
This world was never meant for one  
As beautiful as you.

"Starry, starry night,  
Portraits hung in empty halls,  
Frameless heads on nameless walls,  
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget,  
Like the strangers that you've met,  
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,  
The silver thorn, a bloody rose,  
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

"Now I think I know,  
What you tried to say to me.  
And how you suffered for your sanity,  
And how you tried to set them free.  
They would not listen, they're not listening still!  
Perhaps they never will."

He took a deep breath as the final note faded away. His eyes rolled upward and he smiled, looking satisfied. "Ah, it's over," he whispered. "Thank you, Nifty."

Nifty rose to her feet. "That was beautiful. Where did you learn to play like that."

"Oh, I used to be a real performer," Blanche replied, leaning on his guitar. His hand drifted to cover the odd engraving on its body. "Now it seems that part of my sentence is to perform for eternity. If I go too long without playing then my body shuts down. I last longer between sessions if I have someone to play for."

Nifty nodded her understanding. "You should play for Charlie when you start your counseling sessions. She loves music."

"I noticed." Blanche grinned. "I saw her perform on live TV. She's got a nice voice, but it looks like she's got the same problem I do."

"What's that?"

"Finding an audience in Hell."

-

"Three of a kind," said Angel Dust, laying his cards on the table.

Husk snorted. "Full house. Nice try, prostiturd."

Angel rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. He covered his mouth with a sneer as Husk took his money. "My, my. Much more of this and I'll have to start betting my clothes."

Husk narrowed his eyes. "Nah, I'll put the mercy rule in effect before that."

Angel winked. "Mercy, huh? That's nice of you. You must finally be warming up to me."

"The mercy is for me, not for you," said Husk. "The last thing I need right now is for the only other poker player in the hotel to start stripping."

Angel pouted. "You're even less fun than the new guy."

Husk raised an eyebrow. "There's a new guy?"

Angel smirked at him. "You must've slept through it. Weird guy. Cute, shy, and mysterious, but weird."

"Pfft! You're one to talk, tranny."

Angel held his arms close together, using them to accentuate the bulge in his chest. "I'm not a tranny, babe. I'm a chick with a dick. There's a difference."

"There are no 'chicks with dicks.' Only guys with tits." Husk shuffled the deck and dealt out five more cards, then tossed a gold piece into the center of the table. "I'll start out low. We'll do 5."

Angel turned his pockets inside out. "You've cleaned me out, you fucking card shark." He slowly unbuttoned his jacket, letting it slip off one of his shoulders with a seductive leer. "How about I start with my suit?"

"Fuck it." Husk scooped the cards back into the deck. "For a world-famous pornstar, you sure don't have much money."

"Oh, sweetie, I don't do adult films for the money. I'm in it for the thrill."

Husk grinned humorlessly. "You know, the sad thing is I actually believe you." He turned to look over his shoulder, shouting in the direction of the bar. "Hey, Nifty! Quit fooling around back there! If I come back and find my booze all switched around again, I'm gonna kick your ass!"

The tiny demon hopped up onto the counter, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "Your arrangement makes no sense, Husk! It's pathetic! You've got sherry next to whisky and bourbon on the same shelf as merlot! How is anyone supposed to find anything back here."

Husk chuckled. "I didn't set it up so that 'anyone' could find it. I set it up for me. The only time I can't find what I need is when you fuck with my shit, so leave it alone."

Nifty stamped her foot and fidgeted for a moment, pulling at the ends of her hair as she fought to think of a response. "Ugh! Fine! But I'm still going to sweep out all your trash from behind the counter. You do know that these empty bottles are supposed to go in the bin, not on the floor, right?"

Angel cut in. "You can't recycle broken glass."

"They wouldn't be broken if you put them in the bin to start with!" Nifty leaped from the counter to the card table. "Honestly, how am I supposed to keep this place presentable when everyone keeps coming along behind me and undoing everything?"

Angel looked thoughtful. "Nifty, you've been all around the hotel, yeah?"

Nifty shot him a suspicious look. "Yeah, so?"

"Soooooo… that means you've been in the new guy's room, right?"

"Oh, no you don't!" Nifty walked up to Angel, planting a finger over his lips. "The things that I find in guest rooms are strictly confidential! Do you think I'm some kind of a gossip?"

Angel brushed her hand away. "Do you want the nice answer or the honest answer? Relax, sweetie. I just want to know what you think of him. Something about him rubs me the wrong way. And trust me, I know all about being rubbed the wrong way."

"Ew!" Nifty pressed her fingers against her temple and shut her eye as she erased the mental images of Angel Dust from her mind. "I don't know what your problem is. He was very nice to me."

Angel raised an eyebrow. "You spoke to him?"

Nifty nodded. "More than that. He sang a song for me." She sighed, gazing dreamily into the distance. "It's about time we had a proper gentleman around here. I love a man who can be masculine without being toxic. And that voice! Mmmmmmmm!" She blinked, snapping herself out of her trance. "He doesn't really make much of a mess. He even made his own bed this morning. Of course it wasn't perfect, and I still had to fix it after he left, but at least he tried to be helpful. That's more than I can say about any of the other men around here."

Angel shook his head. "I don't get it. What's his play? Why's he being such a goody-two-shoes? Getting on Charlie's good side is easy. He's going way overboard."

Husk shrugged. "Here's a thought. Maybe he's not a lazy sack of shit like you. Maybe he actually wants to use this hotel for what it's meant to be used for."

Angel snorted. "Ow, my nonexistent pride. Don't be ridiculous. Nobody can leave Hell. Everyone knows that. Charlie's a nice kid, but she's a few cans short of a six-pack, to put it in terms you'd understand. This whole redemption spiel is bullshit. I know it. You know it. Blanche knows it. Hell, the only one who doesn't know it is Charlie. The only thing this place is good for is free shelter and food."

"And booze," added Husk.

"And booze," Angel agreed. "My point is that no one who comes in here is earnest. He's gotta have some kind of an angle he's working." He gave Nifty a sly look. "If only we had a way to find out what it is."

Nifty took a step back, trying not to think about the hypnotic gaze Blanche had used on her. Something in Angel's tone made her uneasy. "If you think I'm gonna spy on him for you, forget it. That's not in my job description."

"IT IS NOW!" said a familiar, static-riddled voice. Alastor slid through a dark, black hole that emerged in the center of the floor. "PARDON THE INTERRUPTION, BUT I COULDN'T HELP OVERHEARING."

"Suuuuuure," Husk responded with a roll of his eyes. "You were just in the neighborhood and thought you'd drop by."

Alastor beamed at him. "PRECISELY. ANYHOO, I THINK OUR RESIDENT… AHEM… MAN OF THE STREET CORNER… HAS A POINT. HERE I WAS, RACKING MY BRAIN TRYING TO THINK UP WHAT TO DO ABOUT OUR NEWEST GUEST, AND PRESTO! ANGEL DUST BEAT ME TO IT." He leaned in, grinning at Angel with coy, half-lidded eyes. "YOU KNOW, I COULD OFFER YOU QUITE A LOT IF YOU DECIDED YOU WANTED TO WORK FOR ME. WITH A MIND LIKE YOURS, I COULD PULL OFF SOME WONDERFULLY SICK AND TWISTED THINGS. WHAT DO YOU SAY?"

Angel leaned back in his seat, folding his hands behind his head. "Nah, I'm good. I never sign a contract from a man who hasn't had my tongue around his cock at least twice. It's the only way I can… get a taste for his business, you know?"

"HA!" Alastor recoiled, but his smile remained unphased. "THAT IS REVOLTING. IN ANY CASE, NIFTY, I'M AFRAID THAT YOUR PRIMARY TASK IS GOING TO BE TEMPORARILY CHANGED."

"Wait a minute," she protested. "You called me here to keep the place tidy, not to snoop around."

"I BELIEVE YOU'RE A BIT CONFUSED," said Alastor. "UNDER ARTICLE 11 SECTION 3 OF YOUR CONTRACT IT STATES THAT I CAN CHANGE THE CONDITIONS OF OUR AGREEMENT AT ANY TIME. YOU DON'T EXACTLY HAVE A WHOLE LOT OF SAY IN THE MATTER. TIME FOR SOME RENEGOTIATION. YOU GO AND GET ME ANY DIRT YOU CAN FIND ON THIS NEW FELLOW, AND I PROMISE NOT TO RIP YOUR SOUL FROM YOUR BODY AND FEED IT TO CERBERUS. DO WE HAVE A DEAL?"

Nifty swallowed, scowling at the Radio Demon. She hated being in debt. Every day she regretted signing his contract more and more. "Fine," she said. "But this had better take a huge chunk out of my debt!"

"THAT DEPENDS ON HOW WELL YOU PERFORM," Alastor replied. His voice dropped in pitch, and a disembodied organ sting punctuated his words. He abruptly straightened himself and clasped his hands together. "NOW! WHO'S GOING TO DEAL ME IN? WE CAN BET YEARS OF SERVITUDE!"

"Not on your life!" Husk snarled. "I'm not falling for that one again."


	3. Regressive Progress

Blanche sat with his hands folded in his lap, tapping his foot as he watched Charlie rifle through her binder. She glanced up and gave him a reassuring smile. “Nervous?”

“No,” he replied, a bit too quickly. “...Maybe a little. I don’t know. I’ve never really done anything like this before.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not anything complicated or difficult. The three of us are just going to have a friendly chat to see where you stand. Got to get a baseline if we’re going to make progress.”

Blanche forced a smile. “I’m glad you’re here, Vaggie. I never was much good at one-on-one stuff. It helps to have another person around.”

Vaggie looked up from her notepad. She was poker-faced and didn’t reply, but she nodded her head in acknowledgement. Charlie pulled a slip of paper out of her binder and set it on her lap. “You’re an interesting case, Blanche. You haven’t left much of a paper trail at all.”

“I like to keep my head down,” Blanche replied. “It helps me live longer.”

“Understandable. Still, that means that my research hasn’t turned up much on your past. You’re going to have to fill in some of the blanks for us.”

Vaggie spoke up. “Charlie is going to ask you a series of questions, and I’m going to take notes. We will also be filming your responses. Honesty is key here. We can’t work with you if you don’t work with us, so make sure your answers are accurate.”

Charlie cleared her throat. “Ready?”

Blanche sighed, his ears twitching as he rubbed at his head. “As ready as I’m going to get. Fire away.”

“How old were you when you died?”

“27.”

“How did you die?”

Blanche thought for a moment. “The details are a little sketchy. I was stone cold drunk when it happened.”

“You were a heavy drinker?” asked Vaggie. Her tone was almost accusatory, and Charlie flinched at her frank summation.

Blanche shrugged. “Not really. It was just… a really difficult time. I got super depressed and went a little crazy with the booze. I was really out of it. Anything could have happened. Maybe my liver failed, maybe I wandered into traffic, maybe I offed myself.”

“Possible suicide, then,” said Vaggie, writing on her notepad.

Charlie took a breath and continued. “What were the circumstances surrounding your death? What had you so down?”

Blanche shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Well… I lost someone close to me. We didn’t part ways on good terms.” He frowned. “Is this really relevant?”

“We have no idea what is or isn’t relevant at this point,” said Charlie. “Any bit of information helps us piece things together. I do want to ask a few questions about your guitar. You said it was given to you during sentencing?”

“Not the guitar itself,” said Blanche. “The case and the shackles were, though. I also got a bit of a… condition. I have a constant compulsion to play the thing. If I don’t do it regularly, my heart stops beating and I can’t breathe.”

Charlie looked thoughtful for a moment. “Interesting. Were you a musician in life?”

Blanche smiled. “I was. Small-time, mostly bar-hopping and playing on street corners, but I had respectable success with digital music sales. Had a pretty big online following.”

“What kind of music did you perform?”

“A bunch of different forms,” replied Blanche, resting his guitar case on his knee. “I got popular doing covers of classic songs, but I had a bunch of original stuff, too. Jim Croce, Billy Joel, Freddie Mercury, Elton John, even some Eagles songs. I had a little bit of everything.”

Vaggie leaned back in her chair, adopting the same accusing tone as before. “Copyright violations?”

“Nope. I kept everything above board, even hired a lawyer to help me cover my ass.”

Charlie frowned. The guitar was the best lead that she had and it was getting her nowhere. There was something missing, a piece of the puzzle she hadn’t found yet. “That case is the only thing you were given, Blanche. It must represent something. Can you think of any detrimental effects your music career may have had on your character?”

Blanche sighed and shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, Charlie. I became a musician because I love to sing. I’m sure you can understand that. My dream was to take my music to the world, to spread it to every part of the globe.” His gaze dropped to his feet. “But… I never got the chance. Everything went downhill before then.”

“What went downhill?”

“Everything,” said Blanche, hostility creeping into his words. “Just like I said. I got a bit too big, and some people got jealous. Bridges burned, harsh things were said. It doesn’t matter.”

Charlie smiled and placed a hand on his knee. “Alright. Try to relax. You aren’t on trial here, Blanche. I’m just trying to figure out how to help you. Everything you say here is strictly confidential. Besides, you’ve already been sent to Hell. How much worse off could you get?”

“You’d be surprised,” Blanche replied, weakly returning her smile. “Before I came here I had never met a four-armed transsexual pornstar.”

“Transsexual?” asked Vaggie. “Why was that detail so important for you to say?”

Blanche blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The way you said it made it sound like you considered it a negative thing. Do trans people repulse you?”

Blanche held up his hands. “No, no, that’s not what I meant.”

Vaggie was leaning in now, her eyes narrowing. “Then why bring it up? Why use it in that context?”

Blanche sputtered. “I… I don’t know. I was just trying to find a humorous way to mention Angel Dust.”

“So being transsexual is something you feel like you have a right to make fun of?”

“What? No! You’re putting words in my mouth!”

“Vag…” Charlie muttered, nudging her arm.

Vaggie ignored her. “Does his sexual orientation make you uncomfortable?”

Blanche scratched his head. “A little, I guess. I’m not really into that and he made a pass at me. Wouldn’t that make you uncomfortable?”

“Hmm.” Vaggie wrote something else down. “What was your ethnicity and orientation, Mr. Blanche?”

Blanche raised an eyebrow. “How the fuck does that matter?”

Vaggie glared at him. “Just answer the question, please.”

Blanche’s green eyes flashed. His patience was clearly running dry. “You’re trying to trap me in something. I won’t-”

“Just answer the question!”

“I was a straight white man!” Blanche shouted with a growl. “There, you happy? Is that what you wanted me to say? It doesn’t fucking matter! Being straight and white isn’t a reason to send someone to Hell.”

Vaggie muttered. “It should be.”

“Vaggie!” Charlie snapped. She turned to Blanche. “I’m sorry. Could you excuse us for a moment?” She snatched Vaggie’s elbow and dragged her out of her seat, hauling her out the door and into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind them. “What the fuck was that about?”

“Oh, come on, Charlie!” Vaggie replied, waving at the door. “He’s not a special case at all! He’s a heteronormative, homophobic white man and he knows it. We’ve seen his kind a million times. He belongs here as much as anyone else! He’s just using a sob story for sympathy! A guitar case and a magic compulsion to play music? It’s the most fucking ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! You don’t seriously buy that bullshit, do you?”

Charlie was fuming. She glared at Vaggie as she rubbed at her own forehead. “You can’t just jump into that! We promised to hear him out, not attack him as soon as he made a slip of the tongue. Why do you always do this? We can’t help him if we don’t-”

“He doesn’t want our help!” Vaggie spat. “He’s just a silver-tongued fraud, like every other client we’ve had! It’s so obvious that it’s insane. I admire how much you want to help, but you’re being childish. Listen to me, Charlie.” She reached out to take her shoulder, but Charlie slapped her hand away.

“No, you listen to me for once! I believe in this place, and I believe in the people we take care of. Every demon had a bit of light in them, and dammit, I’m going to find his if it fucking kills me! If I don’t at least try, then we may as well lock the doors right now. I believe that this can work. Why can’t you?”

They glared silently at one another for several tense moments, neither one willing to give any ground, until the soft sound of Blanche’s guitar washed over them. He was singing, his voice muffled behind the door, but loud enough for his words to be distinct. Charlie tried not to think about how he had most likely heard everything she and Vaggie had just said.

“Welcome to the Hotel California!  
Such a lovely place, such a love face!  
They’re living it up at the Hotel California!  
What a nice surprise! Bring your alibis.

“Mirrors on the ceiling, and pink champagne on ice,  
And she said, ‘we are all just prisoners here of our own device.’  
In the master’s chamber they gathered for the feast.  
They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can’t kill the beast!

“Last thing I remember, I was running for the door.  
I had to find passage back to the place I was before.  
‘Relax,’ said the night man. ‘We are programmed to receive.  
You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave!’”  
The guitar squealed out the chords as Blanche launched into the finale. He slid up and down the scale, creating a sorrowful story through the melody. A sense of overwhelming despair wafted through the song, painting the lyrics in a dismal light. As the final notes began to fade, Charlie’s frown softened. “Please,” she pleaded. “Just give him a chance.”

“Pfft!” Vaggie threw up her hands and turned away. “Whatever. Go ahead, let another asshole walk all over you. See if I care! When he betrays you and leaves you all broken and beaten down, you know where to find me.”

"Vaggie, wait!"

Charlie's words fell on deaf ears. Vaggie stormed down the hall and turned the corner, leaving her partner alone. Charlie slumped against the wall, her throat tightening as her stomach sank into her knees. For a moment she fought back tears, then shook her head. Now wasn't the time. She could freak out and beat herself up over this later. She put on a brave face and walked back through the door. Blanche was closing his guitar case, and he looked up at her with a concerned expression.

"Everything alright?"

Charlie hesitated as she fought for the right words. "I'm sorry about that. Vaggie can be a bit… callous at times. She means well."

Blanche frowned. "Does she? That felt like an awful lot like an attack."

Charlie looked away. "I… I'm sure she didn't mean it that way."

"Charlie." Blanche leaned closer, forcing her to look him in the eye. "You said I needed to be honest with you. That goes both ways. Don't sugarcoat the truth. It just makes things worse."

Charlie felt odd as the green of his eyes seemed to fill her vision. It swelled in from her peripherals, boiling up until it consumed her. It felt like swimming in a warm sea of grass, and just for a moment she felt her tensions ease. The moment passed as suddenly as it arrived, and she let out a sigh. "What… what was that?"

Blanche smiled. "Just a little something to help you relax. You looked like you needed it." The smile faded, and his gaze grew more distant. "It's something I used to build my life around. I wasn't particularly strong, not all that smart, wasn't a rich man, and I didn't have good looks, but if there was one thing I could always reliably do, it was help people forget their troubles." He blew heavily out his nose and ran fingers through his hair. "So… about what Vaggie said. Do you think that's the reason I'm here?"

Charlie sat back in her seat. "Do you?"

Blanche shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, she's not wrong. I am all those things she accused me of, but is that enough to send someone to Hell?"

"I don't think so," Charlie replied. "But Vaggie… she can be closed-minded at times. It's not that she's hateful, she's just… protective."

Blanche nodded slowly. His eyes went misty, and he stared at the wall. "You love her a great deal. I can tell. I know what it's like, you know, to have a dream you want to share with someone. This place could really make a difference, but she doesn't believe in it."

"You're pretty observant."

"Not really. I've just lived through it myself." He folded his hands in his lap, playing with his thumbs. "I had everything you do. I had a woman that I loved more than anything. I've been a musician all my life, and I wasn't very successful at first. I met her at a bar in California where I was trying to earn some pocket change."

Charlie sat up, taking notes. This could be important. "What was her name?"

"Charity," said Blanche. The word seemed to bring the shadow of a smile across his lips. "I was at the end of my rope when I met her. I wanted to quit, to drop my dream and get a regular job like a regular man. But she… she told me to chase after it. So I did." He glared soullessly at the guitar case. "I worked hard, practicing for hours every day, working my fingers to the bone to get every chord perfect, and it payed off. I landed some bigger performance deals, made an album, went on tour. But then…"

His face told Charlie that he didn't want to say anything more, but she needed the information. She placed a tender hand on his shoulder. "Go on."

Blanche scowled, his tone changing to one of confused anger. "Then… everything changed. She changed. She started to complain all the time, telling me I wasn't paying enough attention to her, that I was chasing my dream too hard and that I was leaving her behind. It didn't make sense. She had wanted me to go after it. I was ready to roll over and throw in the towel, and she was the one who pushed me on. Then she wanted to tell me to give it all up? It didn't make any sense. I kept going. I chased it down even harder than before. I told myself that I wouldn't give up until I'd reached the pinnacle. Then… I…" He shut his eyes as tears began to trace their way down his cheeks. "I came back from a show early. The drummer was sick and we had to cancel. When I walked into our apartment, I found another man's clothes on the floor, all mixed in with hers. I went up to the bedroom, threw the door open, and there they were, caught in the act. His back was turned, but she saw me. We locked eyes, and I saw something in her I hadn't seen in years." He broke off his sentence and took a shuddering breath. He looked at Charlie, his eyes filling her mind again. He didn't take control of anything, or even change her thoughts. He simply opened the door to his own. She felt the utter brokenness in him as he spoke. "She was happy, Charlie. Happy that she was getting attention, happy that it was from someone other than me, and happy that I had seen firsthand just how much she enjoyed cheating on me." He broke eye contact and slammed a fist on his knee. "...That's really the last thing I remember. I ran out, got drunk as fuck, and then I woke up in Hell. Maybe I tried to drive plastered, maybe I climbed a building and jumped, maybe I bought a rope and found a tree. I don't know."

Charlie rubbed his arm, giving it a light squeeze. "I'm sorry. You've been through a lot. Maybe we should pick this up again tomorrow. I think I've got a place to start now."

Blanche wiped his eyes and smiled weakly. "Really? You think so?"

Charlie nodded, but her comforting smile dwindled away. "Yeah. I think… we've got a lot in common. I'm pretty sure I know what the problem is, but… I've got to do a little self-reflection before I can figure out how to solve it."

The two parted ways quietly, their feelings awash with conflict. Nifty watched Blanche leave from her hiding place in the vents, and felt guilt and regret clawing at her heart. She had seen something that was not her place to see, and now she was going to go and tell it all to someone who would use it for his own twisted amusement. It wasn't fair, but she had no choice. She sniffled away her misgivings and disappeared through the heating system.

-

Vaggie tossed and turned in the bed, unable to find a comfortable position. There was too much room in it. The place where Charlie usually slept was empty, and had been for hours beyond her usual bedtime. "Fine," Vaggie muttered to herself. "If she wants to be a little bitch about it, then she can just go right ahead. I don't give a fuck." She said it with incredible vigor, as if trying to convince herself that she actually meant it. She didn't, and the attempt failed miserably. There was too much blanket on her side without Charlie there to hog it. There wasn't enough warmth without Charlie there to cuddle beside her. Vaggie felt cold and alone, like she had just pushed a part of herself away. She felt terrible, almost sick, and no amount of repositioning would dispel the queasy feeling in her stomach.

There was a knock at the door and she sat up slowly. "Charlie?"

"NO SUCH LUCK," came Alastor's reply. "MAY I COME IN? I PROMISE TO BE BRIEF."

For a moment she considered telling him to go fuck himself, but his voice sounded different, almost sincere. Something was up, and she needed to find out what. "Fine. I'll hold you to that promise."

Alastor opened the door like a normal human being, no barging or crashing about like usual. He simply walked to the foot of her bed and stood there. The ever-present grin was as infuriating as ever, but he stood with a more relaxed posture. "LISTEN," he said. "I KNOW WE'VE HAD OUR DIFFERENCES, BUT I THINK THERE ARE SOME THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW."

"Like what?" asked Vaggie, raising an eyebrow. "Why are you being so weird?"

Alastor sat heavily on the foot of her bed. "I HEARD YOUR LITTLE SHOUTING MATCH WITH CHARLIE EARLIER. IT SEEMS THAT THIS BLANCHE CHARACTER IS TRYING TO DRIVE A WEDGE BETWEEN THE TWO OF YOU."

"What do you care? You should be thrilled. This is the exact kind of thing you enjoy watching."

"INCORRECT. I ENJOY WATCHING DEMONS STRUGGLE TO REDEEM THEMSELVES, ONLY TO SLIP BACK INTO THEIR OLD HABITS TIME AND AGAIN. THIS NEW GUY IS THROWING A WRENCH IN THE WORKS. HE'S COME HERE JUST TO STIR UP TROUBLE, AND THAT IS MY TURF. I DON'T LIKE HIM ANY MORE THAN YOU DO. FOR ONCE, VAGGIE, WE HAVE SOMETHING IN COMMON."

Vaggie thought for a moment. "So why are you here?"

"TO WARN YOU," Alastor replied. "YOU SEE, I TOOK THE LIBERTY OF WATCHING BLANCHE WORK. YOU'VE SEEN THOSE EYES OF HIS, HAVEN'T YOU? OF COURSE YOU HAVE. THEY'RE MORE THAN JUST A PRETTY PAIR OF EMERALDS. HE CAN HYPNOTIZE PEOPLE WITH THEM. JUST ASK NIFTY. I THINK HE'S DOING THAT TO CHARLIE. NOBODY MESSES WITH CHARLIE'S HEAD EXCEPT ME. I'D JUST DEAL WITH HIM MYSELF, BUT THEN CHARLIE WOULD KICK ME OUT AND I'D MISS OUT ON ALL THE FUTURE FUN." He sighed, and for a moment his toothy grin wavered. "IT'S NOT EASY FOR ME TO SAY THIS, BUT I NEED YOUR HELP. I NEED YOU TO GET RID OF THIS GUY."

"Believe me, nothing would make me happier," said Vaggie. "I knew he was trouble the moment he walked in. But… Charlie would be furious with me."

"NOT IF YOU CAN SHOW HER HOW SHE'S BEEN MANIPULATED. GET RID OF THE HYPNOTIST AND SHE'LL BE BACK TO NORMAL AGAIN. SHE'LL THANK YOU FOR IT. AND EVEN IF SHE IS ANGRY, SHE'S NAIVE AND DOESN'T ALWAYS KNOW WHAT'S BEST FOR HER, NOT LIKE YOU DO. WHAT DO YOU SAY? WANT TO HELP EVERYONE OUT?"

Vaggie nodded. "I'll do what I can, but not for you. I'm doing this for Charlie."

"I WOULD EXPECT NOTHING LESS. THANK YOU, VAGGIE. HAVE A RESTFUL NIGHT. BIG DAY TOMORROW!"

He crept his way out the door, closing it gently behind him. Nifty was waiting in the hallway, scowling up at him. He motioned for her to follow him, and they walked away together. Once they were out of earshot Alastor began to cackle. "AH, WHAT A SUCKER! IT'S ALL TOO EASY WITH THESE TWO! IT'S PERFECT! VAGGIE WILL GO AFTER BLANCHE, CHARLIE WILL DEFEND HIM, AND BEFORE YOU KNOW IT…" The sound of an explosion tore through invisible speakers around them. "BOOM! IT ALL BLOWS UP IN THEIR FACES! THIS IS THE SHIT I CAME TO THE HOTEL FOR!"

Nifty growled. "Am I done spying now? Have you had your fun?"

"FOR NOW," said Alastor. "I'VE GOT ALL THE AMMUNITION I NEED. YOU DID GOOD, KIDDO. MAYBE YOU SHOULD DO THIS FULL TIME."

"No," she hissed. "Never again! I'm just a cleaning lady. I don't get sick pleasure from hurting nice people like you do."

-

Angel Dust yawned as he strolled into the lobby. He staggered around, tugging the blanket more tightly around himself as he went in search of booze. The bar was closed at this hour, but the cabinets were never locked. He tiptoed around Husk's snoring form and began scavenging. In a few moments he found what he was after: a bottle of fine champagne with a fancy label. Angel had no idea whether it was good or not, but the brand name was in French, so it seemed a safe bet that it would be. He crept past Husk again and was about to head for his room when he heard a noise that didn't belong. He turned slowly to see what it was.

Charlie was lying on one of the sofas near the front desk, curled up in a fetal position and shivering. She held her phone in her hand, as if she had called someone just before drifting off to sleep. Angel stared in bewilderment. It wasn't right. She should be upstairs with Vaggie. She didn't belong down here with the riff-raff like him.

Angel approached cautiously, taking care not to wake her. He looked at her face and saw that her makeup was running down her face. She had been crying. Pieces fell into place. She'd had a fight with Vaggie, and now they weren't sleeping together. Angel had been with many different people, always chasing a thrill, running from one orgy to the next without stopping to think about his partner after the fact. Vaggie and Charlie were different. They belonged together, two opposites who complemented one another perfectly. Charlie, the charming and wildly optimistic idealist. Vaggie, the quiet and analytical realist. Seeing them apart felt wrong, like all of Hell would split open if it continued.

Angel thought about Charlie herself. She was so kind, always looking for the good in people, even when they didn't deserve it. So many times she had given him the benefit of the doubt, and just as often he had betrayed her trust. Did he feel guilty? He wasn't sure. Guilt was something he had always been unfamiliar with. He knew he could never change. It wasn't in his nature. But every once in a while, when the stars aligned and the clouds parted, she had a way of making him feel as though he could.

As Angel watched her fidget in her sleep he sighed. What was the use in getting sentimental? It only led to trouble. Still, that didn't mean he had to let her sleep in the cold. He pulled his blanket away from his body and gently draped it over her, then retreated to his room without a sound.


	4. Angels and Demons

The toaster clunked as it shot a pair of bread slices into the air. Blanche slipped his plate beneath them, catching the toast as it fell. He smiled to himself, taking in the simple joy of a skillful catch. As he reached for the butterknife he spotted Charlie out of the corner of his eye. He looked up at her, watching as she trudged wearily into the dining room. Her hair was a virtual trainwreck and her makeup from the previous day still had not been removed. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, as if she had just woken up, but she was still fully dressed. Her suit was wrinkled and her jacket was off kilter. Blanche tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

"Good morning, Charlie," he said. "Sleep well?"

She jumped, here eyes going wide for a brief moment. "Oh, morning, Blanche." She ran a hand through her hair in a vain attempt to make herself more presentable "I didn't think you'd be up yet."

"It's 8 AM."

"Is it?" Charlie squinted at her wrist. "Ugh… I'm losing my edge."

Blanche took a seat at one of the tables. "Rough night?"

"Mm…" She took the seat across from him and let her forehead rest on the tabletop. "I didn't sleep much at all. I was a little… upset."

"I can imagine." He leaned back in his seat, a well-meaning smile on his lips. "Charlotte Magne, daughter of the Devil himself, and a therapist for the worst Hell has to offer. She looks after everyone, but who looks after her?" He placed his elbows on the table and took a bite of toast. "You're a selfless person, Charlie. I don't know how you go on without burning out."

"Normally I've got a very sweet and supportive girlfriend to help with that," Charlie replied, Not lifting her head. "But I've gone and made her angry with me. You think she'll come around soon?"

Blanche took a deep breath. "You know my story. I'm probably the least qualified person to be handing out relationship advice. I certainly hope she will." He frowned to himself. "I forgot to pour myself coffee. Would you like some?"

Charlie looked up at him and smiled. "Coffee would be wonderful, thank you." She watched as the cat-like man moved to brew two mugs of the warm beverage, his guitar case swinging from his wrist as he walked. After a few minutes of grinding and warming up water, he returned with a single cup. He set it on the table and pushed it toward Charlie. She blinked and raised in eyebrow. "What about yours?"

Blanche grinned. "I don't actually drink the stuff, myself. You looked like you needed some, and I knew you'd be more willing to accept my help if I said I was getting myself one anyway."

Charlie took a sip and felt life seep back into her body. "You're a real schemer."

"Not really. I just know female psychology. Grew up with three sisters. I learned it as a matter of survival."

Charlie laughed a little. It felt good to laugh, especially after last night's confrontation. "No brothers, huh? Sounds rough."

Blanche's eyes widened. "You have no idea. The estrogen levels when I was growing up were through the roof. I was surrounded by people I couldn't understand, and who made no attempts to understand me. I was bombarded with anti-masculinity all the time. That's probably how I got interested in the arts instead of going into the military like my father." He looked down at the guitar case. "My mother taught me how to play the piano so that I could read sheet music easier. One thing led to another, and then I'm running around with a guitar." He paused to take another bite. "So what's your family like?"

Charlie sighed. "It's been just me and Dad for a while now. He's the Devil. What do you want me to say?"

Blanche nodded. "Should have probably guessed. Sorry. Can't be easy growing up with him as your dad. Still, you seemed to come out alright in the end."

"Trust me, I wasn't born that way. I guess this is just my rebellious phase."

"Well, if it's just a phase, then I hope it lasts a long time."

They sat in silence for several minutes as Blanche finished his breakfast. There was still a bit of tension, but Charlie found it much easier to relax. She stared at her reflection in the murky liquid in her mug. It had a bit more sugar than she normally liked, but it was greatly appreciated regardless. She rubbed at her face as she saw the appalling state of her makeup. "Ugh, I'm such a mess. Sorry. I wish I was a bit more professional."

Blanche snorted. "You run a personal business, Charlie, not a corporation. Don't sweat it. Besides, nothing's professional in Hell. Though…" He chuckled to himself. "Maybe it should be. I can't think of anything more eternally tormenting than stiffnecks and monkey suits."

"We've got a bit of that," said Charlie. "Dad makes a lot of deals with CEOs. We've even got an entire mansion set aside for Andrew Wilson."

"Say what you want about this place," said Blanche as he picked up his plate and carried it to the conveyor belt, "at least you can't buy your way out."

Charlie nodded. "I've got some more questions to ask you, by the way. I'm starting to get an angle on your case. Will you be around this afternoon?"

"Not this afternoon, no," Blanche replied. "I'm going out for a bit. Got a gig over at Vinny's Vixens. Not really my kind of place, but a job is a job. I'll be back at around 7."

"Alright. That'll give me time to get my thoughts together." She rubbed at her eyes. "I've also got a couple apologies to make."

"Well, good luck. I'm going to freshen up a bit before I head out."

"Yeah, I should probably go get cleaned up. I look like a ghoul."

Blanche gave her an incredulous look, as if he wanted to contradict her but couldn't quite bring himself to lie.

-

Vinny's Vixens was exactly what its name implied, a seedy strip club for all the worst deviants Hell had to offer. Blanche had never enjoyed the place. The sights, sounds, and smells made his skin crawl. But it had something that none of the other dives did: a piano. It was so rare that he got a chance to play anything other than his guitar, and the rush he felt when working with the ivory keys was unlike anything he had ever felt. He held his breath as he stepped through the employee entrance, bracing himself for the wall of cheap perfume.

The dancers were milling around in all directions, preening themselves as they made ready to go on stage. It was a sickly display of every anatomical part imaginable, both human and animal. Blanche suppressed a shiver as a topless beetle skittered past, her four breasts bouncing with every step. As he neared the curtain, relieved to find the light at the end of the promiscuous tunnel, he felt the back of a hand on his cheek.

"Well, well, well," said a familiar voice. "Who would have thought? What's a nice young man like you doing in a place like this? Come to watch me perform?"

Blanche whirled around. "Angel Dust? What-"

"Shh!" Angel pressed a finger over his lips, their faces only centimeters apart as he continued. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his smile hungry as he pressed their chests together. "Don't say anything. You'll spoil the moment, sweetheart. Mmmm, what's this getup? I've never seen you in a tux before." He grabbed hold of Blanche's tie and gave it a tug. "You're all gussied up like a Christmas present. Makes me wanna unwrap you, if you catch my drift."

Blanche tried to pull away, but Angel followed. He pressed against him harder, moving upward to let his cleavage pop further out of his jacket. Blanche swallowed a lump in his throat. "Charlie will be pissed if she finds out you're here."

"What Charlie doesn't know won't hurt her." Angel's finger traced Blanche's jawline as he gave a mock pout. "Promise you won't tell on me? I'll make it worth your while."

"I'm not really into partners with dicks, Angel," Blanche replied. "But don't sweat it. I'll cover for you this time."

"My hero!" Angel whispered. "I'll have to find a way to repay you. C'mon, what makes you so sure I've got a dick? You've never checked."

"You're practically impaling my leg with it right now." Blanche shoved Angel away and gasped for air. "Don't take it personally. I gave up this shit years ago."

Angel pulled a cigarette from between his breasts. He dropped the seductive facade as he leaned his back against the opposite wall and lit up. "Why? Lose your nuts or something?"

Blanche sighed and straightened his tie. "I wish. No, it just isn't fun anymore. Brought me nothing but trouble."

Angel shrugged. "In my dictionary, 'trouble' and 'fun' are marked as synonyms. Tell me something, sweetheart, when was the last time you had any fun?"

Blanche scoffed. "Not since I've been in Hell, that's for damn sure."

"Well, maybe we'll fix that in a little while. You the pianist tonight?"

Blanche nodded. "Yeah."

Angel winked. "Good. Play me something with a lot of swing, will ya? I'm gonna give you a show you won't soon forget. Just try and keep your eyes on the sheet music…" He strutted past Blanche, letting his hand brush across his thigh. "...If you can." He moved on, putting an exaggerated sway into his hips as he walked out of view.

Blanche took a deep breath, shaking his head as he walked out onto the stage and took his place at the piano.

-

Vaggie closed Blanche's file folder and dropped it back on the desk, trying to position it exactly as she had found it. She felt something twinge in her gut, a sense that she had done something wicked. It was an irrational feeling. She didn't need to hide the fact that she read the case files. She was well within her rights as Charlie's partner to do so, and they had agreed upon that from the start. But after their recent fight and continuing disagreement over Blanche's case, Charlie would surely suspect her of looking for dirt to throw at him. Even worse, Vaggie wouldn't be able to defend herself, because that was exactly what she was doing.

It was a lost cause, of course. Charlie had written everything down in her typical optimistic way, and Blanche's sob story read like a script from a bad soap opera. It was sympathetic to the point of absurdity. The only thing that might have been useful was a single phrase, a bullet point at the bottom of the page. "Dreamer. Constantly talked about his life-long goal. Obsessed artist?"

"Oh, hey, Vaggie."

Vaggie jumped as Charlie walked in. The princess moved quietly, timidly toward her desk. Her voice had been a hoarse whisper, pulled taught with nervousness. Vaggie's reply was much the same. "Hey. You didn't come upstairs last night."

Charlie stopped in her tracks, unable to look her girlfriend in the eye. "Yeah, I… wanted to give you some space. You were mad at me."

Vaggie waited for almost a full minute before responding. The silence dragged endlessly on. It was intensely awkward, until Vaggie broke the silence just to destroy it. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Charlie. I didn't mean to be so… difficult." She managed a limp smile. "You don't need to change rooms. I missed you."

Charlie tried to return the smile, but her face refused to obey. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"This place… do you believe in it?"

Vaggie blinked. It was an unexpected question. "Wha…? Of course I do."

Charlie shook her head. "No, seriously, Vaggie. You've been supportive of me through the whole thing, and I appreciate it, but every action you've taken since we started has been negative. You're suspicious of everyone, you don't give encouragement to the guests, and you only seem to see the bad in people. I'm not upset, but I'm worried. This place is my dream, but I don't want it to split us apart. I don't want to get… obsessed. So if you don't believe that this place can work, I need you to tell me."

Vaggie opened her mouth to answer, but caught herself. She wasn't sure what to say. She wanted to say that she did, that she didn't have any doubts, but it didn't feel like the truth. After a moment of thought she replied, "I don't know. I want to, I really do. It's just… we've been doing this for a while now, and we've had no success. We haven't even made any progress. Haven't you ever wondered why?"

"Every day," said Charlie. "But what am I supposed to do? Give up?"

"I don't want you to give up," said Vaggie. She took Charlie's hand, but the usual warmth she felt had turned cold and harsh. It was an affectionate touch devoid of romance. "But… I also don't want this place to break you. At some point we might need to make a choice. When is enough enough, you know? I want this to work, but it isn't working yet. I guess… I'm just not a person with a lot of faith."

Charlie's eyes were damp, and she looked like she was struggling to understand. "You think I should close the hotel."

"No!" Vaggie slapped her own forehead. "Jesus, I suck at this sort of thing! I don't think you should close it. At least, not yet. I just want to know if you can. I need to know at what point you'll break so that we can keep from reaching it. Does that make sense?"

Charlie blinked. "I think so."

"It's because I love you," Vaggie clarified.

"I know, but that doesn't mean you always need to protect me, especially from myself. I have to believe that this can work. Otherwise… I don't know what I would do."

"Maybe that isn't such a bad thing. I'll always be here, and we can figure it out together."

Charlie sighed. "That means a lot to me. But… I don't want to give up on the people we have. At the very least, I want to finish with them. If I can't help any of them, then maybe we can discuss whether or not this can work."

Vaggie let go of her hand. "Even Blanche?"

"Especially Blanche. He's the closest we've ever come. But… I don't want to be obsessed with my dream if it drives us apart. I don't want to end up like him."

Vaggie tapped on the folder. "You've figured out why he's here?"

Charlie nodded. "I think so. He needs to play his instruments in order to survive, and it seems that he was obsessed with his music while he was alive. There has to be a connection there. I think he was neglecting people for the sake of his dream. I don't think it was all his fault. He's very sweet, and there's a lot of good in him, but I don't want to be like him."

"He's making you doubt yourself."

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, a little bit."

"I've got to go." Vaggie's fists were clenched, her expression vacant as she moved from behind the desk. "Angel Dust has left again. Need to make sure he's not getting himself in trouble again."

"Oh, alright." Charlie seemed surprised by her sudden departure, but moved quietly out of her way. "Be safe, Vag. I love you."

Vaggie forced a smile over her shoulder. "Love you too." She walked out the door and down the stairs to the lobby. She was almost to the front door when Alastor's voice assaulted her ears.

"LEAVING ALREADY?" He was lounging against the doorframe, smirking in his usual way. He leaned over Vaggie, and she smelled the stench of bad cologne, a failed attempt to cover the vile odor of his breath. "I NEVER TOOK YOU FOR THE RUNNING AWAY TYPE."

"I'm not running away," said Vaggie. "I'm going to find Blanche. I've got some things to say to him. I don't know what he's done to Charlie, but she hasn't been herself ever since he showed up."

"HE'S BEEN MAKING ME LOOK BAD," Alastor agreed, his smile fading just enough for him to show his disdain. "I DON'T TAKE KINDLY TO BEING BEATEN AT MY OWN GAME. YOU PLANNING ON KICKING HIM OUT?"

"I don't know," Vaggie replied, opening the door. "But nobody messes with Charlie while I'm around." She stuck her finger in Alastor's chest. "That goes for you too, dickwad."

Alastor calmly moved her hand aside. His tone changed, lowering to a more sinister sound. "CAREFUL, SWEETHEART. I'M NOT A MAN YOU WANT TO MAKE YOUR ENEMY."

"I'm dating the daughter of the Devil himself. You don't scare me."

-

Blanche ran through the final lines of his song, sliding his fingers across the piano keys as the exotic dancer left the stage. It had been a fairly standard show, and the audience was getting bored. Blanche switched the pages, getting his next piece ready. The owner took the stage next, waving away the boos from the crowd.

"Aw, quit your whining! I won't be up here long. Now, we have a special guest here tonight, an individual who I'm sure needs no introduction. You know him, I know him, we all want him, ladies and gentlemen please put your hands together for the one, the only, Angel Dust! Hit it, piano man!"

The audience cheered as the curtain rose. Blanche began his performance. As Angel requested, he had chosen an arrangement with a great deal of swing. It was old-fashioned and classy, contrasting sharply with the lingerie that Angel wore. He strutted out onto the stage, his hips swaying as he swung himself onto the dancing pole. He danced with perfect timing, circling around it as he proudly displayed himself for all to see. Blanche focused on his playing, staring into the pages. Then, to his surprise, Angel began to sing in a breathy, seductive voice.

"You know your smile drives me crazy,  
You know your body drives me wild.  
You know you make my mind so hazy,  
Guess you could say that I'm beguiled!

Oh, it's you who makes me tremble,  
It's only you who make me moan.  
But you've run off to sleep without me,  
And now I'm tired of sleepin' alone!

You know I can't hold out forever.  
My desires, oh, they can't wait!  
Need to feel someone inside me,  
I need someone to take the bait!

Can't keep my head above the water.  
I'm sinkin' like a weighted stone.  
I feel my insides burning hotter,  
And I'm so tired of sleepin' alone!

Oh, where's the lust and where's the passion?  
I need a man to set me free,  
And since you never satisfy me…" Angel pulled his top off before continuing, earning whistles of approval from the crowd.  
"Hey, honey. Want to play with me?

Yeah, I'm movin' on! I'm dyin' for attention!  
I'll find someone to quench my horny thirst.  
If you're not here, I'll bed down with another.  
Unlike you, I put my pleasure first!

Yeah, I'm tired of sittin' 'round and waiting,  
For you to come and bury your bone!  
When you're gone I'm runnin' 'round with others.  
I'm sick and tired of sleepin' alone!"

Blanche played through the conclusion as Angel took his bows. Cheers came from the audience, and Angel waved to his adoring public before retreating to the backstage area, leaving his clothing beside the pole. Blanche tugged at his collar. It was good that Angel's performance had been the last of the evening. He needed a drink. He rose from the bench and made his way outside, snagging a glass of champagne from the bar on his way by. It was an unwritten rule of the clubs that the talent drinks free.

The weather had turned since that morning. What had started out as a sunny day had turned quickly into a downpour. Blanche stood beneath the awning, watching the cars drive through the red light district. It felt nice to be in the open air again after so many steamy performances. He drained the glass and set it aside.

"What did you think?"

Blanche looked over as Angel emerged from the alley, holding a small umbrella above his head to keep dry. Blanche smiled and offered him a cigarette. "Didn't know you could sing like that."

Angel chuckled and accepted the offer. "Everyone at the hotel sings. It's kind of a gimmick. You fit right in, y'know."

Blanche tilted his head and sighed as he produced a lighter from his jacket and passed it to Angel. "Sadly my material isn't original like yours is. I haven't been able to remember any of the songs I wrote since I got here." He smiled at Angel. "Wouldn't that be something? Survive three purges in a row only to get taken down by copyright infringement."

Angel nodded his agreement as he lit up the cigarette. "It catches up with all of us, in the end. God bless the pencil pushers. May they all get lead poisoning."

"Hear hear." Blanche toasted with the empty glass. "So what's your story, anyway? How'd you get all tangled up in this?"

"Eh, you know how it goes. Pretty face comes around looking for someone to save, offers free food and a bed. That's a step up in my book. I've just got to pretend that I'm going straight."

"Pretend?" Blanche folded his arms. "You mean you aren't actually trying to get better?"

Angel laughed. "Honey, do I look like someone who's trying to be good? I'm a fucking whore! I gave up any hope of being redeemed long before Charlie showed up."

Blanche thought for a moment. "That's not fair to Charlie, though. She's put a lot of work into you, you know. Abusing her trust hurts her a great deal."

Angel's grin disappeared. "Yeah… yeah, I know. Look, it's not that I don't appreciate her. I'm not that heartless. Still, this whole thing of hers? There's no way it'll work. We all deserve to be here, and nobody gets to leave. She's hurting herself by trying."

"We don't all belong here," Blanche protested. "Do you think she does?"

Angel took a thoughtful drag from his cigarette. "I guess not. She deserves a lot better than being Lucifer's baby girl. But she's a special case. Me? I was never anywhere near that worthwhile of a person. I know what I did to get here, and you know what? I don't even regret it." He gave a humorless chuckle. "Guess that makes me a monster."

"Don't say that," Blanche placed his hand on Angel's shoulder. "I don't think you're all that bad. Yeah, you kinda creep me out and I have no idea how to handle your…" He waved a hand at Angel's body. "...figure. But you've got this energy around you, like you're getting the most out of life in Hell. It takes a strong person to keep from getting depressed in a place like this."

"Maybe, but I express that in the wrong way."

"Well, that's what Charlie is there to help with, isn't it?"

Angel stared at Blanche in disbelief. "My god… you actually believe in this shit, don't you? You really think demons can be redeemed. I thought you were just like the others, but you actually bought the sales pitch."

Blanche didn't answer. He spotted someone approaching from behind. "Oh, fuck. It's Vaggie."

Blanche was right. Vaggie was marching up the sidewalk, blood in her eyes. She was drenched with the rain, and she looked furious. She stopped in front of the pair, glaring at Angel Dust. "I thought I'd find you here," she said. "Putting on another show, are you?"

"Not at the moment," Angel replied flatly. "Stick around. Maybe I'll give a performance in a few minutes."

"I think it might be time for you to get back to your room, don't you?"

Angel tossed away his cigarette. "Only if my boyfriend here comes with me."

Vaggie shot a deadly glance at Blanche. "Actually, I'm going to talk with your 'boyfriend' for a minute. We've got some things to discuss."

Blanche patted his back. "Probably best if you run while you can, Angel. Something tells me you're not going to want to be around for this."

"Don't have to tell me twice. Good luck, smookums. I'll be waiting for you." He blew a kiss and disappeared into the alley.

Blanche turned to Vaggie, offering her a spot beneath the awning. "So, what did I do now?"

Vaggie didn't move beside him, opting to stay in the rain and glare at him. "As if you don't know."

"You haven't trusted me since I arrived. It could be just about anything."

"How about everything? What have you done to Charlie?"

Blanche raised an eyebrow. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Ever since you showed up she's been miserable! She isn't herself anymore. You've been hypnotizing her, haven't you?"

"Hypno-" Blanche leaned against the wall. "That's not how my hypnosis works."

"So you have been doing it!"

"I used it on her once," Blanche admitted. "But I can't control someone's mind with it. That's a myth. The most it can do is help calm someone down or focus their attention. I can't make anyone think or do anything that they don't want to."

"Uh-huh. And I'm supposed to believe you."

Blanche's voice began to rise. "If it worked that way, then I would've used it to make you trust me ages ago. Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, I'm not actually out to get you? Maybe I just want to find a way out of Hell!" He tugged at his hair. "Christ's sake, I came to you people for help!"

Vaggie jabbed his chest with her finger. "Oh, no you don't. You're not going to guilt trip me. I know your game. You're a manipulator. You're using Charlie just like you used your girlfriend when you were alive!"

"Used my…" Blanche was angry now, his green eyes lighting up with a strange fire. "What do you know about any of that? I never used anybody!"

"She was your justification, your reason for carrying on with your stupid music." Vaggie pointed at the guitar case. "You convinced yourself that she wanted you to, and you ignored anything else that she said. It's no wonder she left you for someone else. You don't deserve Charlie's help! You belong in Hell, and you won't escape!"

Blanche's voice went deathly quiet. "Holy shit. You don't believe in her at all. If there's one person in Hell that I thought would believe that Charlie can redeem people, it was her own girlfriend."

"Shut up! You don't know me!"

"Oh, really? Because I'm pretty sure I've dated your type before. Let me guess, everything was wonderful a little while ago. You had your perfect little relationship, all quiet and easy. Nothing came between the two of you. But then Charlie started dreaming, started wanting to actually do something with her life and it threw everything out of balance. The hotel is a drain on you, admit it! It's taken Charlie's attention away from you, and you're so selfish that you can't even see all the good that she's doing! That's the truth, isn't it? You want her to fail! You want the hotel to break her, to crush her soul so that she never thinks about dreaming big ever again. And when it all finally comes tumbling down, when she's at her lowest point, you'll be there to help pick up the pieces. You'll have your perfect girlfriend back, and fuck anyone else who tries to get in the way! You're as bad as Alastor. No, you're even worse! At least he's honest about what a piece of shit he is, but you're still in denial!" Blanche pulled his jacket tighter around himself, stepping out into the rain. "Ask yourself, Vaggie. Which one of us is really using Charlie?" 

He turned his back on her and walked away, leaving her alone. Vaggie wanted to scream, to tell him that he was wrong, but she couldn't find the words. She tried to tell herself that he was lying, but his statements had stung too severely. Her throat was tight and her shoulders shook. The rain soaked into her soul, leaving her cold and miserable. She wrapped her arms around herself and shambled down the sidewalk, crying to herself as she made her way back to the hotel.


	5. Checking Out

Charlie gave her best smile as Blanche walked in the front door. "How was the show?"

"Fine," Blanche replied. His tone was sharp, and it made her flinch.

"Is something wrong?"

"No." He swept his way past her, not bothering to look in her direction. "Just tired, that's all."

Charlie frowned. This was definitely a new behavior for Blanche, and his voice didn't match his words in the slightest. Something in his speech told her not to press him. "Oh, alright. Get some rest, then. We can start fresh in the morning."

He stopped just before reaching the stairs. "Charlie?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you… do you enjoy doing this?"

Charlie blinked in surprise at the question. "Doing what?"

Blanche turned to face her. His expression was blank, but with a hint of self-loathing in his emerald eyes. "Your dream, this hotel, does it make you happy?"

Charlie thought hard for several moments. "I've never really thought about it. This isn't really something that I do for fun. It's hard work. I put a lot in but don't get a whole lot out. But even when everything is falling apart and I feel like I'm drowning in it all, it feels right. It's like this is where I'm meant to be."

Blanche tugged absently at his shackles. He winced, and Charlie could see the broken skin beneath them, rubbed raw from years of irritation. "I've never felt that way about anything," he said. "I spent so much time chasing my dream that I never stopped to think if it was right. Makes me wonder if I was searching for my place in the world, or just chasing the thrill." He took a breath and folded his hands in front of him. "When I'm on stage, when everyone's watching me, it feels good. When I play, when I make people smile, when everyone's troubles melt away under the heat of my music, I feel powerful. I can control their emotions. With a shift of my fingers, I can make someone who was miserable feel joy. It's a high that makes cocaine look like caffeine." He stared at Charlie, and his gaze seemed to pass through her. "Is that wrong? Am I evil for feeling that way about it?"

Charlie approached slowly. "Would you like to sit down and talk about it?"

Blanche shook his head. "Not tonight. Sorry, I said more than I meant to. I need to sleep on it, I think. I said some things I shouldn't have said today, some things I didn't really mean. Maybe in the morning?"

"Whatever time works for you, I'll be here."

Blanche smiled thinly. "Thanks, Charlie."

-

Vaggie stumbled her way down the sidewalk, wiping at her eyes. She was almost back to the hotel, but the tears refused to stop flowing. Blanche's words had cut her deeply, and she kept replaying them in her mind. Was it true? Was she really hoping for Charlie to fail? The more she asked herself, the more certain she was that Blanche had been right. She had been selfish, not even once thinking about how much this all meant to Charlie. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering as the rain soaked through her. She felt miserable, cold and alone. Worse yet, she felt as though she deserved it.

Suddenly the raindrops stopped hitting her. She looked above her and saw a red and black umbrella over her head. Alastor grinned down at her, his pointed teeth more hideous than ever. "IT'S NOT HEALTHY TO GO OUT IN THE RAIN UNPREPARED, SWEETHEART," he said. "SHALL I ESCORT YOU HOME?"

Vaggie wanted to strangle him. Every bit of her screamed with hatred as she clenched her fists. Even so, it felt good to be out of the rain. In her emotional confusion she had managed to leave her own umbrella behind at the club, and the respite from the chilling water was welcome. Vaggie swallowed her pride and nodded. "Thanks," she managed.

"DON'T MENTION IT. SO, HOW DID IT GO? DID YOU RUIN HIS SPIRIT, CRUSH HIS SOUL, BREAK HIS HEART?"

"No." Vaggie sniffled and wiped at her nose. "If anything, I think I just made him more determined. He's… not who I thought he was." She shook her head. "I'm not who I thought I was."

Alastor's grin faded slightly as he watched Vaggie's quivering lips and quaking shoulders. "OH, NO NO NO NO. THIS WON'T DO AT ALL. WHERE'S YOUR FIRE, GIRL? WHERE'S THAT VENOM IN YOUR EYES?"

"I…" Vaggie tried to glare at him, but found herself too exhausted to be angry. "I don't have it anymore. I used it all on Blanche and… and Charlie." She whimpered the last word, as if saying it pained her. "I've been a horrible girlfriend to her. She's never asked anything of me except to trust and believe in her, and I couldn't even manage that. I'm totally worthless."

Alastor sighed heavily, his tone of voice losing its bombastic volume. "Listen, doll. Let me level with you for a minute." Vaggie stared at him in disbelief. She had never seen the radio demon behave sincerely. Alastor continued. "Contrary to what you might think, I'm not hanging around just to make your life miserable. I'm here to torment the lost souls in the hotel, not you or Charlie." He met her gaze. He was still smiling, but the normally wicked edge of it had melted into a genuine expression. "I don't believe in this little shindig of yours, but Charlie does. Things have been rough, but she keeps on going. It's hard not to admire something like that. If I had that kind of dedication I might never have wound up down here in the first place. You, on the other hand, you're something else. You're a watchdog, always nipping at my heels, oblivious to the fact that I could end your existence with just a snap of my fingers. You got guts, kid. You might be psychotic, annoying, overly angry, and a crazy liberal pinko bitch, but one thing you aren't is worthless."

The pair stopped walking, and Vaggie stared at Alastor in confusion. "Holy shit," she said. "You actually said something nice. Well, nice in a backhanded sort of way."

Alastor's grin turned sinister again. "YEAH, WELL DON'T GET USED TO IT. YOU REALLY LET ME DOWN TODAY, SWEETHEART. YOU'RE LUCKY I DON'T END YOU RIGHT HERE AND NOW FOR FAILING ME. BUT I'M FEELING GENEROUS TODAY. KEEP THE UMBRELLA, TOOTS. AND REMEMBER, LOOSE LIPS SINK SHIPS SO DON'T GO BLABBING ABOUT ALL THIS." He pulled a zipper across his lips to emphasize his point, then disappeared in a swirl of crimson shadow with a casual wave of his hand.

Vaggie stood transfixed, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. She couldn't believe what she had just witnessed. Alastor had not only given her encouragement, but had shown something that almost resembled kindness. It couldn't be possible. He was the most evil being apart from Lucifer himself, wasn't he? He was disgusting, rude, chauvinistic, and overbearing, and yet he was capable of doing something good. Maybe Charlie really had been right all along. Maybe there was hope for him after all. She shook her head in wonderment, then carried on toward the hotel. She felt a wave of relief washing over her, like a weight lifting from her shoulders. She nodded to herself, deciding that it was time to talk with Charlie.

-

Blanche sat on the edge of his bed, his guitar in his lap. His fingers danced across the strings, strumming the final bars of "Love of my Life." As the notes faded into silence, he cast his eyes up toward the ceiling. It was far from his best performance. Vaggie's words still weighed heavy on his mind. She had been right. He really had abandoned what was most important for the shallow thrill of an audience's adoration. He had chased the high, following the allure of celebrity like an addict. He had played, and the crowds had adored him. He had made men applaud and women swoon. With a single chord he could sway a crowd, wrapping hundreds at a time around his finger. The power had been intoxicating, and he had given in to his greed for more. Perhaps he really had deserved what had happened to him. He stared down at his instrument, reading the names engraved on its surface. His own name with the name of his lover, surrounded by a heart. She had given it to him as a gift, promising to stay at his side forever. She had broken the promise, yes, but he had never done anything for her in return. Could be truly blame her for being unfaithful when he had made himself so difficult to love?

Blanche shook his head. No. It wasn't true. It couldn't be. He was overthinking, just like when doubts assailed him in life. He decided to do what he had always done; ignore his second guesses and push ahead. He raised his hand to begin a new song when there was a knock at his door.

"Who is it?"

Rather than answer, Alastor kicked the door in and strutted into the room, flashing his best sneer. "GOOD EVENING, MY FINE FELLOW! AND HOW ARE YOU DOING TONIGHT?"

Blanche sighed and returned his guitar to its case. "I've been better. Can I help you?"

Alastor's eyes narrowed, giving his grin an even darker edge. "OH, NO. OUT OF THE TWO OF US, I THINK WE BOTH KNOW IT'S YOU WHO NEEDS HELP." He spun his microphone and spread his arms theatrically wide. "LUCKY FOR YOU, THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I'M HERE TO DO!"

Blanche raised an eyebrow. "You're here to help me? Why?"

Alastor looked left and right, as if checking to see if they were alone. "BECAUSE CHARLIE'S LITTLE PROGRAM HERE HAS IMPROVED MY GOOD NATURE? WHO KNOWS? WHO CARES? THE POINT IS THAT YOU HAVE A NEED, AND I HAVE A SOLUTION!"

Blanche nodded slowly, a concerned frown on his face. "I'm listening…"

Alastor snapped his fingers, and a manilla folder popped into being with a puff of smoke. "I'VE BEEN A BIT BUSY TODAY. THOUGHT I WOULD DO A LITTLE DIGGING. THE BIG MEN IN CHARGE KEEP DETAILED RECORDS OF EVERY SINGLE SINNER IN HELL, THEIR SINS, AND THEIR PUNISHMENTS. EVERYTHING IS TOP SECRET, OF COURSE. NOT EVEN CHARLIE CAN GET ACCESS. FORTUNATELY I KNOW A CLERK THERE WHO OWES ME A FEW FAVORS." Blanche reached for the folder, his grip desperate. Alastor snatched it away with a chuckle. "AH, AH, AH! LET'S NOT ADD THIEVERY TO YOUR LIST OF WRONGDOING, MY FRIEND! THIS BABY TOOK A LOT OF STRING PULLING AND ASS KISSING TO GET HOLD OF, AND YOU KNOW THAT I'M NOT MUCH OF AN ASS KISSER. THERE'S A SERVICE FEE ATTACHED TO THIS INFORMATION."

Blanche rolled his eyes. "Don't be a douche, Radiohead! I need that!"

Alastor nodded. "YES. YES, YOU DO. BUT THAT'S HARDLY MY PROBLEM."

Blanche snarled, baring his teeth. "What's your price? I don't have any money."

"HA!" Alastor laughed, his voice wheezing and abrasive, like cat claws on a chalkboard. "MONEY MEANS NOTHING TO ME. I DEAL IN A FAR MORE VALUABLE COMMODITY." He snapped his fingers again, producing a slip of paper filled with a dizzying amount of legal writing. It hovered in front of Blanche, and a quill pen appeared beside it. Alastor leered triumphantly at the sinner, his eyes burning with abyssal flame. "COME ON, MY GOOD MAN. LET'S MAKE A DEAL."

-

Charlie looked up as Vaggie stumbled into their room. Her hair was a mess, and her eyes were bloodshot. She stared forlornly at Charlie, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to think of something to say. Charlie spared her the effort by standing up from her desk and practically flying to give her an embrace. "Vaggie! What happened? Are you ok?"

"Mmhmm," was all she could manage. She buried her face in Charlie's chest, tears flowing again as she clutched her close. Her grip was tight and filled with needing, as if letting go would make her heart stop beating. "Charlie… I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" asked Charlie. "Sorry for what?"

"For being a total bitch," Vaggie replied. "I've done nothing but argue with you since we started all this. I didn't believe that you could make a difference, that any of this could work. I was jealous of the attention you were giving to others, and I tried to keep you to myself. I… I…" She choked on her words. "I even tried to get Blanche to leave just so I could have you back. I was wrong. You're doing so much good for people, putting yourself on the line so that other people can be happy. It's the whole reason I fell in love with you in the first place. You've never asked anything of me except to be there for you while you followed your dream, and I couldn't even manage that!"

Charlie ran her fingers through Vaggie's hair, smoothing out the tangled mess. She fought back tears of her own as she placed a kiss on her forehead. "It's alright, Vag. I haven't been fair to you, either. I got so caught up in it all that I didn't give you the attention you deserved. And you have been there for me, second guessing me and protecting me from myself. I need that, Vaggie. I'm a dreamer, not a thinker. I need someone like you to keep me grounded." She pushed Vaggie back, placing her hands on her shoulders as they locked eyes. "You complete me. I'm the one who should be sorry for forgetting that."

Vaggie sniffed and wiped at her nose, A weak smile forming on her face. "So what, then? Do we both apologize and move on?"

Charlie laughed as she wiped tears from her eyes. "That sounds great." Her hand strayed under Vaggie's chin, pulling her close as she leaned in for a kiss. Their lips nearly made contact when the door burst open, making them both jump. Nifty stood in the doorway, panting terribly, her eye wide with panic.

"Charlie! You have to come quick! Blanche is up on the roof!"

"The roof?" Charlie echoed. "What's he doing up there?"

"Crying, mostly," Nifty replied. "It looks bad! Really bad! I think he's going to jump!"

Vaggie's hands went over her face. "Holy shit! This is all my fault! We've got to get up there!"

"What did you do?" asked Charlie.

Vaggie began to run for the door. "Something terrible. I never thought it would drive him to this. Come on! I need to make this right!"

-

Blanche sat on the edge of the roof, his legs dangling out into space. He stared out at the skyline of Hell as his skilled hands worked the strings on his guitar. Tears poured down his cheeks, sliding across his whiskers before dripping down toward the street below, lost in the rain. His shoulders heaved and his entire body shook in the cold. The access door flew open as Vaggie, Charlie, and Nifty emerged onto the roof. Blanche didn't even look up. His attention was fixed on the folder and papers strewn about him, soaked through and stuck to the shingles. He smiled joylessly.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said. "The song, I mean. I wrote it myself, years ago. I couldn't remember how it went until now. It's funny, you know? Here I am, waterlogged and miserable, but the music is always pristine. Not a single missed note, not a single chord off-beat. No matter what I do the music is always fucking perfect." He stopped strumming, staring blankly into space and rising to his feet.

"Blanche," said Charlie. "Come over here. I want to talk to you."

"What's the point?!" Blanche demanded, whirling to face her. "I do belong here, Charlie! I deserve this!" He waved his hands at the papers. "The file doesn't lie. I'm here for being an obsessed artist, a negligent lover, and a narcissist." He snatched a paper from the roof, nearly ripping the soggy document as he held it up. "'As his music sustained him in life, it will now sustain him in death. His art has become his prison, and he will either play or be destroyed.' That's a direct quote. My being here isn't a mistake. I fucked up and now I've got to pay the price." He pointed at Vaggie. "You were right all along. I'm just as worthless as you said I was!"

"No!" Vaggie shook her head. "What I said to you was horrible, and it wasn't true at all. I know you aren't evil. You aren't like the others. I was just being selfish. Please, don't do this! Let us help!"

"Yes," said Charlie. "Where did you even get this file?"

"I BELIEVE I CAN ILLUMINATE YOU ON THAT." Alastor said as he strode through the door. He was swaggering in his usual way, waving a contract in front of him with sadistic glee. "BLANCHE AND I MADE A LITTLE BARGAIN, YOU SEE. I GAVE HIM THE INFORMATION HE WANTED, AND IN EXCHANGE, HE PROMISED TO BE MY SERVANT AS LONG AS HE EXISTS IN HELL."

Vaggie snatched his collar, pulling him down to her level. "You what?! You piece of shit! I'm going to kick your ass so hard you'll be-" Her voice stopped abruptly as Alastor swiped a finger across her lips. Her mouth sealed shut with an audible zipper noise.

"THERE," said Alastor. "THAT'S BETTER. PRETTY GIRLS LIKE YOURSELF SHOULD BE SEEN, NOT HEARD. NOW, MY GOOD FELLOW, I KNOW THIS NEWS IS A LOT TO TAKE IN, BUT YOU OWE ME A FAVOR. I'M NOT GOING TO LET YOU GO JUMPING OFF ROOFTOPS." He snapped his fingers and a wall of flame erupted around the edges of the roof. Blanche simply stood where he was, his fur smoldering in the impossible heat.

"I should have known better," he said. "You wanted to break me before you owned me."

"BROKEN SERVANTS DO TEND TO BE EASIER TO MANAGE," Alastor agreed. "CHEER UP. YOU ONLY NEED TO WAIT A YEAR. A MAN WITH YOUR DISABILITY ISN'T LIKELY TO SURVIVE ANOTHER PURGE ANYWAY."

Vaggie was on her knees, pulling at the zipper on her mouth as tears of hatred streamed down her face. Charlie took another step toward Blanche. "Let me help," she said. "Maybe you did deserve your punishment, but so did everyone else in the hotel. You're the exact sort of person I made this place for."

"SORRY, SWEETHEART," said Alastor. "BLANCHE IS MINE NOW, NOT YOURS. MY OWN PERSONAL MUSICIAN. GOD KNOWS HE'LL DO GREAT ON MY RADIO PROGRAM. I NEED SOMEONE TO DO ALL MY INTERLUDES."

"You couldn't help me anyway," said Blanche. "Now that I know what I did, I'd rather take my punishment." He stared down at his guitar, holding it in front of him. His grip tightened around its neck, his claws sinking into the wood of the fretboard. "This fucking thing. It ruled my life for so long. I wasted so much time, so much love on this piece of shit. All this time I thought I owned it, but now I see the truth. It owns me. It always did." He met Charlie's gaze as a smile hovered around his expression. "But it doesn't own me anymore." He turned to Alastor. "You think you're pretty clever, don't you? Always thinking three steps ahead of everyone else. Well fuck you! I'm not going to be your musician! I'm not going to be anyone's musician!" He took the guitar in his hands, holding it like a weapon. "Come on, you fucking trash heap. Let's give them one last song!" He raised it over his head, slamming it against the roof over and over again, punctuating each swing with a roar of exertion. "I. WILL. NOT. LET. YOU. OWN. ME. ANYMORE!"

"Stop!" Charlie begged. "If you break it you'll die!"

Blanche didn't listen. He gave a final swing, and the guitar shattered against the roof with a final twang of released tension. The strings snapped, slashing across Blanche's hands and drawing blood. He collapsed to his hands and knees, clutching at his chest as his heart stopped beating. The contract in Alastor's hands burst into flames, disappearing in a cloud of ash. Vaggie freed herself from his spell and rushed to Blanche's side. She put her arms around him, holding him in her arms as he gasped for air. He smiled, though his expression was clearly pained.

"I'm so sorry," said Vaggie. "I drove you to this."

Blanche shook his head. "No… It's better this way. I… I'm tired of hiding from the truth. Thank you… for helping me see it. I'm free now. I'm a better man… thanks to you."

Just as Blanche's eyes began to close a ray of light shot down from the sky, splitting the clouds with a clap of thunder. It surrounded Blanche, and he began to float in the air. His body drifted upward, and he gasped as his life returned to him. Charlie's eyes went wide and her jaw fell open. He was ascending. "Blanche," she cried. "You did it!"

"Did what?" he asked. "What's happening to me?"

"You redeemed yourself! You gave up your sins, and now you're leaving Hell!"

Blanche began to smile as the realization hit him. "It's possible! Your hotel works, Charlie! Hahahaha!" He whooped as his body began to fade out of view. As he disappeared, he shouted his final words. "Thank you for everything! Don't give up! There's hope for this place, after all."

The column of light faded away, and the rain resumed once again. Vaggie and Charlie moved back inside, hand in hand. Alastor lingered a few moments longer, staring up at the sky with a grin. Once he was alone, he began to laugh. "Well, well, well. Who would have thought? Guess there really is a way out of Hell. You win this round, big guy, but I won't go so easy on you next time. Now I know what to watch out for. You won't be taking any more of my people away from me, I promise you that. Now everyone knows it can be done. The closer success is, the more failure hurt. This is going to be even more entertaining than I thought. Now the real fun can begin." He gave a final wave toward the heavens, then strut his way indoors, cackling as he went.


End file.
